Splendour of Phobjikha Valley
Phobjikha, one of the few glacial valleys in Bhutan is a winter habitat of the rare and endangered black-necked cranes. Called thrung thrung in Dzongkha, these birds arrive in Phobjikha from Tibet in mid-October and return in mid-February. Their arrival heralds the end of harvest season and migration of farm families to warmer places.
Forty seven km from Wangdue Phodrang, the road turns east to ascend through dense forests of the Black Mountain National Park. The deciduous forest gives way to evergreen trees. Within a few kilometers, vegetation transforms once more to pines, rhododendron and fir. Moss covers the bends and joints on the tree trunks. God knows how many insects, spiders and other life forms depend on the microcosm of the bark, the moss and the orchids for food and shelter. Yaks graze in the undergrowth. A fine mist pervades the atmosphere as we drive through the clouds. Lichens hang in profusion from the blue pines like the tresses of Santa Claus’s beard. It is a dream world with hardly another vehicle in sight to disturb the tranquil mood. We halt in silence for several minutes to absorb the sight, the smells and the sounds of the lovely forest. Can there be a better way to worship the Creator than to admire his creation!
At the top of the mountain, the trees retreat and a vast panorama of rolling hills open up at the pass that leads to the Phobjikha valley. The hills are covered with dwarf bamboo - three feet tall, with a surface so uniform as to make the finest golf courses go greener with envy. Yaks dot the bamboo fields, grazing like possessed demons, not even once lifting their massive skulls to look at us, the lowly creatures eager for a good mug shot for the readers of Tashi Delek. Â Can’t blame them, considering that the green juicy leaves are there for such a short while before the harsh winter freezes it all again.
The hills gently slope down to the glacial valley that is snow bound for the better part of the year. Sangeeta, my wife, is mesmerized by the sight and feels it is the loveliest place we have ever seen. Farms with wooden fences surround homes with colourful roofs. Red, green and yellow vegetation splashes its color across the canvas. The Nakey Chhu drains the valley flowing south-west into the lower reaches of the Punak Chhu. Snow-covered peaks of the high Himalayas rise on all sides. We pass by the Gangtey Gompa on the ridge overlooking the valley. Built in 1613 in the Tibetan style, its prayer hall is one of the largest in Bhutan. In the Gangtey Drubda (retreat), monks spend three years in meditation, undisturbed by the world outside.
We drive down the road to the village. A pine forest rises to our right and the valley of the cranes extends far below to our left. The valley is an extensive meadow interspersed with occasional bushes and short trees. The purple bark and tiny red leaves of the trees glow in the evening sun against the various shades of green of the bamboo and the grasses.
Sonam, our guide entrusted by Sangay of Etho-Metho tours allows us our moments of bliss before pointing to a distant spot directly in our line of vision. We can make out three white specks that spring to life when seen through the binoculars. The black-necked cranes are right there. Once the eyes are accustomed, we can see many more of them scattered across the meadow and on the far side of the narrow glacial stream that flows across. They are too far for photography with a 400 mm lens. Going into the meadow is a strict no no. Maybe we have better luck next morning or else have to budget for a longer lens next season!
We are the first guests in the newly commissioned Phuentsholing Guest House with attached bath in all its comfortable and spacious rooms and solar panels for lighting and hot water. A light tug on the curtains unfolds a fabulous alpine view without the need for a Swiss visa. Arising before dawn, Abhimanyu, our twelve year old son and I brave the below zero mercury and the hyperactive village dogs to hike to the compound of the Renewable Resources Centre. The ‘Nonrenewable’ cranes will perhaps be close from this spot before the village activity jostles them to the far side.
We first hear them in the darkness and as dawn cracks, we see them. Though still far, they are near enough to be identified in my camera’s viewfinder. There are adult cranes and immature juveniles. Families stick together while feeding, relaxing and in flying off in response to disturbance. The adult pairs occasionally take on a regal posture with upturned necks, heads held high, chest bulging, limbs straight and wings flapping when making a hearty call. Several families herd together in loose groups scattered all over the grassland. In all, about two hundred of them cling to this meadow in the winters, holding aloft their banner in this piece of paradise that is their last refuge in an increasingly hostile world.
As the village starts waking up, horses and sheep move in to graze, outnumbering the birds. A truck rumbles on its rounds carrying materials for a new building near the school located on one edge of the meadow. Farmers work in fenced patches of scarce crane habitat. Conservation is not only enforced but also ingrained into the local psyche. Governed by an environmental visionary, Bhutan still holds the best hope for the vanishing cranes.
A light drizzle finds its way from the overcast sky to the valley below. It is the magical hour when little kids start their walk to school from homes hidden in the forest and veiled behind hills. It is a photo opportunity to live for, with colourful umbrellas, bright dresses and red school shoes marching in joyous abandon. The tall pines, looking over the kids as towering guardian angels form a lovely green backdrop. The first rays of sun peep through the pines in the east. A rainbow forms through the raindrops in the west. I miss its picture by seconds as the sun moves above the hilltop to obscure the rainbow by its dazzle while I fumble with the lenses. I shall forever rue the moment when I decided to save on weight by leaving the extra camera back at the hotel.
The moment called for a solemn pledge then and there to return next season with a longer lens, loads of film and the muscle to carry all on every trek, howsoever casual. Wait for us Phobjikha as we pine for another glimpse of your splendor.
By: Dr. Lokesh Abrol